


The Back Road Kings

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Drama, F/M, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-16
Updated: 2006-10-17
Packaged: 2018-09-02 14:11:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8670610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: The summer of 1998 will be a summer Sam will never forget - the summer his world changed, the summer he fought against the trails and errors of young romance, the summer he finally figured out Dean. The summer Sam knew nothing and everything, the summer that he found out that forever wasn't too far away. It was Sam's summer, one that he could keep nestled safely in his mind. The summer he and Dean were the Back Road Kings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**The Back Road Kings  
Summary:** The summer of 1998 will be a summer Sam will never forget – the summer his world changed, the summer he fought against the trails and errors of young romance, the summer he finally figured out Dean. The summer Sam knew nothing and everything, the summer that he found out that forever wasn’t too far away. It was Sam’s summer, one that he could keep nestled safely in his mind. The summer he and Dean were the Back Road Kings.  
 

**Fandom:** Supernatural

**Rating:** PG-16 ****

**Characters:** Sam, Dean, John, OCs ****

**Pairings:** Sam/Dean, Sam/OFC, Dean/OMC, implied Dean/OFC ****

**Word Count:** 4139

**Warnings:** Wincest, scenes of alcohol consumption (and the morning after), violence (nothing major), language and non-consensual sex and mention of BDSM. Not a happy story, let me tell you.  
**Author's Notes:** I've had this idea for a long time and I hope you can at least enjoy it. It is chaptered and it may not be updated regularly since it needs time to get beta'd and all that. Just bare with me here.  
  
Thanks to [ ](http://mf-luder-xf.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://mf-luder-xf.livejournal.com/)**mf_luder_xf** for _offering_ to be my beta! She is the ultimate beta, BUT YOU CAN’T HAVE HER! SHE’S MINE! *kidnaps*  
  
 

  
  
 

 

 

**Chapter 1/?**

 

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you Lawrence High School’s graduating class of ninety eight!”

 

There was a deafening roar rolling across the grounds which caused Dean to rise dutifully to his feet and do the very much cliche, but demanded, tradition. Along with the others, Dean tore off his cap and tossed it into the air with a quick snap of the wrist and it twisted into the sky, twirling beyond the sun and clouds. It was lost for a moment among the others and then Dean saw it, the gold tassel glimmering in the sunlight. With a rapturous laughter that was only drown out by the cries of congratulations and relief, Dean jumped into the air and caught his hat with one hand.

 

“Nice catch Winchester!” someone called from the crowds, but Dean couldn’t see who was there.

 

Claps on the back and shouts of admiration and plans for later filled Dean’s world and for a moment, he felt like he actually fit in. He followed a group of considered friends around, taking pictures and laughing truthfully for the first time.

 

To be accepted wasn’t something that Dean Winchester thrived for; maybe, if things had turned out differently, it would’ve been his whole intention in high school. Become popular, play football, maybe get into college off of a scholarship. The all-American dream; the stereotypical dream. But dreams were not tolerated by John Winchester because when you dream, you lose track of reality and soon you’re too absorbed in it. 

 

So, when the opportunity came along, it was nice for Dean to be able to just talk with someone and not have it include demons and ghosts. A pleasant change even if it wasn’t permanent.

 

Dean scanned the crowds for a familiar face; Sam had promised to be there. He had a final exam to study for, but he’d promised and it was a code – punishment of torture and humiliation at it’s finest – that he and Sam had lived by ever since they could remember: never back down on a promise. Dean made sure to keep his promises – he had been let down too many times. 

                        

After minutes of searching and a few calls, Sam didn’t appear. Dean wondered if Sam too was becoming like all the others. A wind had picked up on the hot summer day, blowing Dean’s gown around his legs. He was sweating bullets under it, but he wasn’t about to take it off. He wanted to show Sam, just so his brother knew that he had graduated.

 

_Maybe_ , Dean thought, peering over heads so much taller than him to search for a mop of tousled brown hair, _maybe Dad’ll come._

 

Dean highly doubted it – when Dean had laid the graduation invite on the table, John glanced at it only briefly before nodding and going back to writing feverishly in his journal. Hurt, Dean took the invite into his hands and somberly walked back up the stairs and gave it to Sam without saying a word.

 

“Sure,” Sam had said, looking at the invite and laying it down neatly on his desk. He had pulled his textbook back on his lap, running his finger along the tiny print, his face scrunching with concentration on the page.

 

“So you’ll come?” Dean had looked, almost surprised, at Sam’s obligation. A non-forced obligation at that.

 

“Of course. I promise – I just have to finish studying for my math final and I’ll be there, cheering you on.” Sam had looked up, that goofy grin on his face that could instantly brighten Dean’s day in the most mysterious of ways.

 

And Dean had believed that. He really believed that Sam would show up. He could say he knew better, but in all honesty, he didn’t. He didn’t like – he didn’t want to believe that Sam would back down on a promise that clearly meant so much to Dean -- he wanted to be able to say his life wasn’t his father’s. 

 

“Are you coming to the party tonight or what Winch?” Shane Macintosh, in all his lanky lean-ass glory, maneuvered his way through the crowds and stepped gracefully beside Dean. 

 

“Better believe it Shane,” Dean replied half heartedly, eyeing Shane for only a moment before looking back to the crowds. They were thinning out and Dean was sure he’d see Sam soon, running past the people, that goofy smile plastered on his face. And then Dean would finally be able to breathe, since his breath seemed to get caught halfway up his throat every time he saw messy brown hair and legs to another nameless face’s ears.

 

“If you’re looking for Merissa, she’s over there,” Shane offered unnecessarily, pointing his hand across Dean’s vision. 

 

Dean looked over in the direction, not really seeing the gaggle of girls looking at him inquisitively, before looking back to Shane. “Merissa,” Dean replied dumbly. _Right, Merissa._ As bad as it seems, it wasn’t entirely unusual or new – Dean had once again forgot about his girlfriend. Or were they even dating anymore? Dean really couldn’t remember.

 

Maybe that was why she was angry with him... or whatever her melodramatic excuse for life she playing now.

 

“Yeah. Maybe, I dunno, you should _talk_ to her.” Shane shrugged, trying to act as if one of Merissa’s friends – or herself – didn’t put him up to it. Dean frowned, finally looking at Shane fully. “She misses you man.”

 

“She put you up to this, didn’t she?” Dean growled, toeing the ground with his shoe. A mound of dirt and grass came free and Dean kicked it away from him, sending dark spots of black earth flying. He was sick of Merissa and her mind games – _damn pain in the ass_.

 

“No, why?” Shane was horrible at lying – his eyes went wide and he couldn’t exactly look Dean in the face, but he would come frighteningly close to it. Dean found all those years of watching John play Twenty Questions with suspects and witnesses useful when it came to seeing if Shane was being a spy once again. Which he usually was.

 

Dean looked at Shane with a cocked eyebrow, surveying him closely. Shane shifted his weight a bit, looking down his arm and biting his lip. 

 

“Fucking hot out, eh?” Shane mumbled, head bent low to his chest. 

 

“Right. I’m looking for my brother and Dad, have you seen them?” Dean asked, looking back to the crowd. Everyone had gone already – only a few people left behind to voluntarily clean up discarded programs and garbage – and still Sam wasn’t there. 

 

He wasn’t coming and Dean knew now that Sam was probably still back at the house, studying for the math final, all plans to see Dean in one of his proudest moments forgotten. 

 

“Still fighting for your family’s recognition of your great academic skills, Dean?” Shane scoffed, pulling a cigarette from behind his ear. Dean wasn’t sure how he could’ve hid it so well, considering Shane had a natural buzz.

 

“Shut up Shane,” Dean grumbled. It always hit Dean hard when people made remarks about his brother and Dad never showing up for things like this. 

 

_Not like it’s really that big of a deal anyway._

 

“Sorry man.” Shane lit the cigarette, cupping his hands to the non-existent wind, and took a long drag. “Ah... I needed this. I really, _really_ needed this.”

 

“You shouldn’t smoke,” Dean reprimanded, walking ahead of Shane to the shade under a tree he had spotted.

 

“Thanks _mom_ ,” Shane called after him, still standing alone in the middle of desert heat, puffing on his cigarette. His skin glistened with sweat and Dean had to look away almost immediately. 

 

“Are you coming or would you rather get lung cancer and skin cancer at the same time?” Dean called, sliding onto the metal bench. The coolness seeped through his gown and jeans he welcomed the stinging cold with much grateful acceptance. 

 

Shane looked at his smoke in his hands and then up at the sky. He contemplated his options for a moment before stalking over to the bench and setting himself down roughly, opposite of Dean.

 

 “I’ll pick lung cancer.”

 

Dean shrugged, running a hand through his short hair. A breeze picked up, but it was thick and warm, and Dean really wished he had worn a shirt today so he could pull off his gown. He looked at Shane, regarding him through the corner of his eyes as he stuck the smoke between his lips and drummed his fingers on the table. Dean wanted to kick himself for knowing what those fingers could really do.

 

Dean really wished that Shane and he hadn’t done those things during school, because he was really going to die under his gown. He really wished he hadn’t done all those things with Shane in the past two years because he wasn’t sure if he really felt that way anymore. But he knew Shane did and he always would.

 

So that was why he tried not to give in so easily to Shane’s begging and tried to keep all his clothes on while near him.

 

“Your choice.” Dean pulled at the collar of his gown, cursing himself mentally. 

 

“So, dude, at the party tonight, I was wondering...” Shane trailed off, sticking the smoke back in his mouth. He was gripping the table a little hard.

 

“Yeah?” Dean croaked out. He had buttoned the gown to tight, he realized. Or maybe he was bloating from the heat.

 

Shane looked up to meet Dean’s eyes and he seemed to read all of Dean’s thoughts at once because he clamped his mouth and his eyes wavered. “Y’know what? Never mind. It’s nothing. Really.”

 

“You sure man?” Dean asked, loosening the top buttons of his gown. Just his luck, another syrup-like breeze picked and pulled the loose fabric to reveal the top portion of his chest. 

 

Shane looked as though he had found the Holy Grail beneath Dean’s gown and his fingers itched to rip it off his body and fuck Dean right there. Dean noticed this and rolled his eyes.

 

_Oh Jesus Christ._ “Dude, not now,” Dean warned, buttoning up his gown again. He would have to brave the heat.

 

“Oh com’n! There’s no one here.” Shane took the cigarette from his mouth and crushed it into the table. “No one will hear.” Shane pushed himself from the table and was leaning across, dangerously close to Dean. Inching nearer and nearer, and as much as Dean wanted to give in, he knew something bad was going to come from it. “No one will know.” Shane’s breath was snaking across Dean’s lip – peppermint candies, Players Lights and traces of whiskey on his face – and Dean knew he couldn’t resist Shane much longer.

“Shane,” Dean whispered, leaning in. He wrapped his hand around Shane’s neck slowly and brought his lips to Shane’s in a crushing force. He moaned, making Dean smile; he swept his tongue across Shane’s mouth and he was already opening up before Dean could beg for more.

 

Shane had climbed onto the table, kneeling in front of Dean; he locked Dean’s head in place with his hands and shoved his tongue deep into Dean’s mouth, hinting at things yet to come. Dean’s fingernails curled into Shane’s neck, trying to get more out of Shane, though he was giving everything he could offer in a public place. __

Dean’s fingers curled into Shane’s robes, clutching him like a life line as Shane crawled closer; Shane’s breath coming out in short bursts as he opened his mouth. He muttered something, but Dean wasn’t paying attention. His eyes were closed tight, a flash of summers before, when he first met Shane, came to mind. 

 

The swipe of a tongue _– the tree house behind Shane’s grandparent’s –_ fingers caught in his hair _– the smell of must and sex lingering on Dean’s clothes for days afterward_ – his name moaned softly in his ear _– Shane’s fingers grasping onto him tight; his first time_ – a sound of leaves crunching in the distance _– screaming filling his ears, but it’s his own_ – Dean pulled back. 

 

_Crunching leaves?_

But there it was again. Then a dubious voice calling across the grounds: __

“Dean?” 

 

Dean looked up, pulling away from Shane, who let out a huff of impatience. Dean recognized that voice and he was right: Sam was standing with his back turned away from the two, looking across the grounds. 

 

“Shit,” Dean muttered and Shane looked at him quizzically. Dean looked back at him. “Sam.” Shane’s mouth dropped and his eyebrows went up and Dean could’ve laughed if he wasn’t so afraid at that moment. Afraid for reasons he couldn’t seem to place.

 

“Dean? Are you here?” Sam’s voice rang clear in Dean’s head. Disgusted with himself, should Sam ever see what his big brother was doing, Dean pushed Shane back to the other side of the bench and wiped his mouth quickly. __

“Hey, Sammy!” Dean called, trying to sound as though he wasn’t just about to give his best friend head on the picnic table. He seemed to pull it off well.

 

Sam turned around, spotting Dean and Shane sitting in the shadows. Dean smiled brightly at him, but Sam didn’t return the smile, as he usually did. Sam walked forward somberly, his hands clasped in front of him. 

 

There was a rustling in the trees and Sam froze, looking to his right. He stood for a moment, nodded and pointed to Dean. Confused and slightly aghast, Dean shot up to see who - or what, for that matter - Sam was talking too.

 

“Dean.”

 

It was John. And Dean recognized the look on his face – they were going hunting.

 

\- - - 

 

“Hey, Mr. Winchester!” Shane called out from the table, waving erratically. He was still flushed and his gown was bunched suspiciously at the front. 

 

John raised an eyebrow at Dean, who shrugged and looked away, wiping at his lips again. Dean really wished Shane would just shut up sometimes and use his mouth as what it was best for.

 

“Your aunt in Montana is sick,” John declared, furrowing his brows together when he saw that Shane wasn’t leaving. He was actually walking up to them, a grin of a child who was holding a dirty secret – which he actually was – on his face.

 

“Awe man, _again_?” Shane whined.

 

Dean looked at John, wide-eyed and horrified. John looked back at Dean, giving him the _look_ and then looking at Shane. 

 

“Yes, again. Not in great health, my sister,” John dished out calmly and Dean felt like hitting him until he was black and blue, no longer distinguishable as a human being. How could he drag him away now? During his graduation? During his day, the day that John failed to recognize.

 

“Too bad Winch.” Shane clapped Dean on the back, where the hand rested far longer then needed. John eyed Dean curiously as he shrugged the hand off his back. “It was gonna be a good party. Call me when you get back,” Shane added in a hurried whisper. His fingers clenched into the back of Dean’s robes and Dean could almost feel the smile playing on Shane’s lips.

 

“Yeah,” Dean mumbled, looking down and away from his father’s prying eyes.

 

“See you later Winchesters!” Shane waved with a flip of his wrist and he was running across the dirtied grass – the last volunteer, a withered old woman with a tight face, stared after him, slightly surprised, and looked to Dean. She shook her head, frowning to herself and Dean let his mouth gape. ****

 

Dean felt like crawling into a hole and hoping he never had to come out.

 

“Com’n, Dean. I’ve got a good lead this time and – ” John grabbed Dean’s elbow like he was a kid again and began walking away, Sam trailing behind, the lost puppy once more.

 

“You say that every time,” Dean mumbled, pulling his arm away from John’s grasp. John stopped walking and turned to face Dean.

 

Dean never really talked back to his dad – he had thought of it many times, but he actually enjoyed spending time hunting. It was a solace for him – when he held a gun full of rock salt in his hands and he was chasing another supernatural being in the middle of nowhere, it was adrenaline drug that Dean had become increasingly addicted to. 

 

Then, there were the times that Dean really had enough of it. He had enough of John dragging him away at any God-given time. He had enough of John ordering him around like he was a perfect little soldier, controlling his life and limiting what he could do, just to keep it all a secret. Dean rarely had these moments of clarity on what he really felt, though – it was best to keep it all inside until he could let it out in a bar or with Shane, over a few drinks and some things he never liked to mention – even to himself. 

 

“What’s that, Dean?” John asked, slightly confused. His hand was still held out, as though Dean would willingly put his arm back into his grasp.

 

Dean looked at his dad – but he couldn’t say that he was tired of it. Not just yet, anyway.

 

“Nothing, Dad,” Dean mumbled. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

 

There was a moment of silence where the wind rustled the trees and Dean could hear his own heart echoing across the open school grounds. John looked at Dean for a moment longer before nodding, the fact that a unheard of Dean Winchester breaking point had been tipping dangerously on the edge completely forgotten.

 

“I’ve got a lead on the demon in Montana and it seems like we might get it this time,” John answered slowly, not bothering to take hold of Dean’s arm again.

 

Dean nodded, trying hard not to look at John’s face, afraid that maybe his father would see what he was trying desperately to hide. “Alright.”

 

Dean brushed past John, shoving him hard with his shoulder. John watched Dean glide across the lawn, jumping over the sidewalk and strutting out to the only car parked in the lot – a 1967 Chevy Impala, glowing a stark and vivid black in the summer sun. 

 

\- - - 

 

Fifteen-year-old Sam watched his brother open the car door with impeccable force that surely should’ve torn the door right off the hinges; but it was only slammed shut, the sound echoing across the school.

 

The last volunteer looked up, her white hair pulled tight to her head. John nodded curtly and she shook her head as though she knew more than them. Sam wondered how that was possible, but decided against asking. 

 

“Com’n Sam, we don’t have all day,” John ordered, shoving his hands in his pockets.

 

Sam studied his father for a moment, trying to understand the usually unreadable expression –Sam knew instantly that Dean’s slight outburst had unnerved him, but Sam couldn’t understand why. It was just Dean being Dean.

 

The horn honked from the parking lot – Sam looked and saw Dean tearing off his gown to reveal glimmering muscles and tanned skin. Sam waited for Dean to pull on a shirt, but he just fell back into his seat, resting his sock-clad feet on the dashboard. Sam looked away, a feeling of something heavy and _wrong_ fighting at the back of his mind and in the pit of his stomach.

 

The horn blared again and John was walking away from Sam, leaving him alone to stare at the half naked, mostly pissed off Dean through the stained window of the car. 

 

\- - - 

 

Throughout the entire trip to Montana, Dean never put his shirt on. John never mentioned it, just turned up the air conditioning to a point where Sam could see his breath come out in white puffs of air, hoping that Dean would put one on.

 

Sam felt that his Dad knew something; something that both his brother and Dad were hiding from him. Usually, Sam was left out on all the top secrets, but this time it was something far more than a hunt or a demon – it was something that caused John to tense and give Dean his wary look. There was a pause in John’s smile, in his step, in his words back at the school. And Sam wanted to know why John looked at Shane that way; as if he were another demon. ****

 

Dean never did put his shirt on. And Sam didn’t really mind. Not like he would’ve before, but it was nice to see Dean’s muscle ripple invitingly under the sun, the darkness of skin unusual but beautiful for a Winchester. Sam was a bit envious of Dean – tanned and strong, able to tear his shirt off in the dead of winter and still look like he lived in California all year round.

 

Sam stared down at his own hands – long and pale; creamy skin stretching across growing bones that never seemed to cease in sprouting. He clenched and flexed his hands, wondering why he wasn’t tan like Dean. Why he wasn’t strong like Dean.

 

Sam saw the back of Dean’s head bob up and down; he had fallen asleep halfway out of Lawrence. 

 

Why wasn’t he like Dean at all? They were flesh and blood – they both came from the same parents. Sam wanted to know why Dean had everything and he was stuck with size eleven feet and his body all bones and sharp edges.

 

Maybe it was the luck of the draw – maybe his Mom and Dad decided to give everything to Dean and leave him the leftovers of their wonderful creation. 

 

Magnificent and head strong, that was Dean. The definition of bravery, courage and power in a body of an eighteen-year-old spitfire hellion.Gorgeous – as Sam had heard his previous girl friends whisper to him, thinking he wouldn’t care – and unbelievably charming; he had an unnatural gift to make any girl fall to their feet and Sam had witnessed it many times. John always complimented Dean’s sharp cleverness and ability to make the impossible seem easy to get through. John would congratulate Dean on his great aim, which was nothing new. He was everything, he had everything and Sam had his books. 

 

Sam looked out the window absently, shoving his hands between his legs – he never liked thinking about Dean and all his accomplishments. It made him feel inadequate and under John’s standards. He wasn’t much into pity parties anyway.

 

Roads passed by with blurs and Sam finally remembered – the ceiling demon.

 

Sam hadn’t bothered to ask his Dad where they were going for the hunt – Montana was a good enough reason to leave Lawrence behind, dust kicking up behind the wheels of Sam’s favorite car, Johnny Cash blasting through the speakers. It was a good enough reason to leave everything where it lay, chase after a lead on the thing that made them this way and Sam knew that his Dad just wanted it to be all over.

 

What he wanted to know really was why John wanted to drag him and Dean everywhere. Once they found the demon, it was all over. Or that’s what Sam believed.

 

Hot air and air conditioning mixed in a tornado in the backseat and Sam felt the oncoming of car sickness hit him like a brick wall. He clamped his mouth shut, unbuckled his seatbelt and pressed his cheek against the cool leather. 

 

“Alright back there, Sammy?” John called; his fingers tapped along with a song on the radio and he glanced in the rearview mirror, a concerned look etched lightly on his face.

 

Sam let out a low moan and nodded, sitting up for a moment. The sweat of his skin stuck to the seat and made a ripping sound, as though Sam’s own skin was tearing from his face. A wave of nausea swept over Sam – he wished it would pass, it always did – and he was laying face first, back in the seat.

 

Sam knew it wasn’t going to get better until they stopped for good and they weren’t even in Nebraska yet.

 

\- - -  
  


	2. Chapter 2

**The Back Road Kings  
Summary:** The summer of 1998 will be a summer Sam will never forget – the summer his world changed, the summer he fought against the trails and errors of young romance, the summer he finally figured out Dean. The summer Sam knew nothing and everything, the summer that he found out that forever wasn’t too far away. It was Sam’s summer, one that he could keep nestled safely in his mind. The summer he and Dean were the Back Road Kings.  
 

**Fandom:** Supernatural

**Rating:** PG-16 ****

**Characters:** Sam, Dean, John, OCs ****

**Pairings:** Sam/Dean, Sam/OFC, Dean/OMC, implied Dean/OFC ****

**Word Count:** 3294

**Warnings:** Wincest, scenes of alcohol consumption (and the morning after), violence (nothing major), language and non-consensual sex and mention of BDSM. Not a happy story, let me tell you.  
**Author's Notes:** I've had this idea for a long time and I hope you can at least enjoy it. It is chaptered and it may not be updated regularly since it needs time to get beta'd and all that. Just bare with me here.  
  
Thanks again to [ ](http://mf-luder-xf.livejournal.com/profile)[**mf_luder_xf**](http://mf-luder-xf.livejournal.com/) for the awesome betas and wonderful encouragement *thumbsup*

 

  
 

**Chapter 2/?**

 

Through Nebraska, across the edges of South Dakota and Wyoming, and already five days of Sam’s summer had been spent. Dean didn’t seem to be as affected as Sam, but for once, Sam wanted a summer that didn’t start with the Impala and learning hasty exorcisms in the backseat. 

 

They made it to Montana by night fall and throughout the entire trip, John never once mentioned how he had found the demon or even how he was going to kill it. Either way, when John spoke about leaving, Sam hadn’t been able to find a loop hole to wiggle his way out and he knew he was stuck for at least a few days in another seedy motel room on the edge of a town he would never, ever visit again. Hopefully.

 

As Sam was hit with the cool Montana night air, his sickness was instantly gone – just as simple as that. Soon, Sam was being thrown bags of gear and clothes until he was sure he would fall over from the improper balancing. 

 

Dean came back with the keys dangling from his fingers – Sam noticed he had finally pulled on a shirt and a little part of Sam felt disappointed. Sam’s logical thinking dominated with the knowledge that Dean is his brother, so stop it. 

 

“Welcome to paradise,” Dean called loudly into the night as he walked into the dark motel room, his bare arms shining with cooling sweat in the moonlight.

                                                                                    

Sam followed in, tripping blindly over the step and nearly dropping the equipment, which wouldn’t earn him brownie points with his dad. He steadied himself before gently setting everything down on the nearest bed and the lights were flicked on.

 

For a moment, Sam was sure he’d been pulled into some type of warp zone and teleported to the depths of a rain forest in the Amazon. Gritty wallpaper, ceiling to floor, lined the walls with a horrible adaptation to any forest in general. Moss hung from branches, the bark of the trees was a stark brown and black, a clear blue river cut in and out of the mural, and a suspicious looking bird was perched above one of the beds. Sam was sure when he woke up in the middle of the night, he wasn’t going to be comforted by the sight of the unblinking eyes.

 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” John muttered from behind Sam.

 

“Told you it was paradise.” Dean was sprawled out on the bed already, clicking through the television stations and his boots on the floor.

 

John looked at Dean for a moment before frowning. “If you’re going to prove useless in helping us unpack, go get some food.” The keys caught the light of the blue screen as they flew across the room and Dean caught them in his hand without even caring to look up. 

 

“Right,” Dean answered, eyes still stuck to the television where in a new episode of Buffy, she was once again trying to revive her love with Angel, though but everyone knew it wouldn’t work. 

 

“Dude, come on, I’m _hungry_ ,” Sam whined, unzipping the bag closest to him and beginning to pull out holy water and crosses. Their clothes bags laid unattended and forgotten – it was very unlikely they would need to unpack everything. They usually didn’t.

 

“Shut up, you were just about puking all over the car,” Dean snapped, pocketing the keys. His hips lifted off the bed in a jerking motion so his hand could reach into his jeans and Sam swallowed roughly, feeling his stomach clench in that wrong way again.

 

“That doesn’t mean I’m not hungry,” Sam grumbled, tearing his eyes away from Dean, which was harder than it should have been.

 

“Dean. Food,” John ordered once again, pointing to the door. “Now.”

 

Groaning, Dean rolled off the bed and pulled on his shoes. Deliberately, he took his time in tying up the laces and Sam was sure he could feel his own stomach eating itself as he watched Dean agonizingly put on his jacket.

 

“Some time this century,” John barked and Dean cracked an innocent smile.

 

“Anyone want anything in particular?” Dean asked, standing by the door, one hand on the knob the other running over his short dark blonde hair. Somewhere in the back of Sam’s mind, he wished he could run his hands through Dean’s hair.

 

“The usual,” Sam and John said in unison. 

 

Dean grinned wider. “We’re just like the fucking Brady Bunch now, aren’t we?”

 

“Language,” John prodded, narrowing his eyes in Dean’s direction.

 

The grin on Dean’s face faltered but never left. “Right.” Dean looked down, pulling at his jacket. “Okay, the usual. Be back in ten.”

 

There was an odd sense of emptiness that Sam felt inside him once the door slammed shut and Dean was gone. Sam knew Dean was coming back, but lately, even for Dean to leave his side was something unbearable. Sam tried to busy himself with placing the holy water and guns in a neat order, rearranged them and then eventually sorted them into separate bags. That lasted a total of five minutes. 

 

John never said anything as he bent over his journal; Sam watched his dad flex his fingers with a pained expression, obviously from holding the pen too tight and scribbling too fast. Sam had chided John over the years that he could get carpal tunnel from writing so much and that he should take a break once in awhile; let Dean or him write something down. But John wasn’t going to let go of his journal, even if his life depended on it.

 

Sam watched the clock closely, waiting for Dean to come back. He was hungry enough to eat the bar of soap in the bathroom and had an unusual void inside himself that he just wanted to leave. Sam was sure he had never felt so dependent on Dean before recently and it bothered him – considering he was fifteen. He shouldn’t be so needy with his older brother – besides, Dean was eighteen. He had just graduated. He was probably ready to get rid of the one hundred and twenty-five pounds of dead weight that seemed to go with him everywhere.

 

Ten minutes ticked by and Dean didn’t return. Sam felt a sting of worry and anxiety, but he knew Dean better than that. Dean could outwit, outrun and most definitely fight any thirty-year-old drunken hustler by the time he was thirteen. Sam tried to push the thought of Dean lying in a back alley, possibly bleeding and unconscious, away, concentrating on not overreacting.

 

“Sam, stop drumming the damn table,” John snapped.

 

Sam caught his fingers in mid-act, halting his hand. He looked at his dad, who glared at him through sleepy eyes and moved his hand off the table. “Sorry,” Sam mumbled, placing his hand in his lap. 

 

John sighed. “Go watch TV or something. I’m trying to concentrate here.”

 

Sam begrudgingly left his position by the door and ambled over to the bed where Dean had been laying. He sat down gingerly on the bed, as though it would break under his weight. The television set blazed colors of blue and green and red across Sam’s vision as he settled himself, only half comfortable, into the bed. His eyes finally came to rest on the show, but it wasn’t like he paid attention.

 

Dean really needed to get back to the hotel and that’s all Sam cared about.

Twenty minutes later, Dean came stumbling through the door, a crumpled brown paper bag tucked under his arm and a shit-eating grin on his face. 

 

Sam jumped from the bed and grabbed the bag from underneath Dean’s arm, his hunger taking the best of him. “How long is ten minutes in your world Dean?” Sam asked, digging blindly into the bag for his food.

 

“I got side tracked, Tofu Boy,” Dean sneered, snatching the bag from Sam’s grasp, almost causing Sam to drop his salad onto the shag carpet.

 

“I don’t eat tofu!” Sam pointed out hotly, throwing himself back onto the bed. He ripped the tape with his chewed-off fingernails and tore the plastic lid off. “I _am_ a carnivore.”

 

“Just because you eat what carnivores eat doesn’t mean you are one,” Dean replied softly, as though he was talking to a small child. He reached out to ruffle Sam’s hair and Sam slapped his hand away, causing Dean to chuckle.

 

“Do you even know what a carnivore _is_?” Sam inquired around a mouthful of soggy salad and hard croutons.

 

“Something you’re not,” Dean replied before taking a large bite out of his cheeseburger. 

 

“Good one, Dean.” Sam rolled his eyes, piercing his fork back into the salad. “Dad, you gonna eat?”

 

John didn’t look up from his journal; he raised one finger and kept writing. “In a minute, Sammy.”                  

 

Sam and Dean exchanged a fleeting glance at each other before shrugging and focusing on their supper. They ate in silence, the TV muted because Sarah Michelle Gellar’s voice was getting on Dean’s nerves, and Sam let the familiarity of John’s quiet disposition and his and Dean’s banter wash over him.

 

Sam couldn’t figure out for the life of himself why but he somehow enjoyed these trips. He’d much rather be back at Lawrence, sure, inside his own house and possibly never have to think of another demonic possession or supernatural thing ever again. It was a nice dream, one that Sam fantasized about a lot, but somewhere inside him he knew he enjoyed spending this time with his family. It was the only way he got to see them on a regular basis. Even though he and Dean couldn’t be near each other for more than two minutes without finding something to chide the other about and John always had his nose in his journal or a newspaper, it felt more like a family than it had been when he was growing up. When Dean was his only family.

 

It was in these motels, eating a salad that could possibly have as much grease as Dean’s double cheeseburger that Sam realized this was the closest thing he could ever get to normal. He knew that in time, he would accept it; he was slowly finding he could call the back roads his home. It was becoming more familiar than his own bedroom. It was something that never bothered Dean, but it had bothered Sam for the past few years. Sam knew that, in time, he was going to have to like it because it wasn’t going to change.

 

Or, at least, Sam didn’t think it was going to change.

 

\- - - 

 

Sam was shook awake at six AM; rather roughly too. 

 

Trying to escape the dread of another early morning, Sam rolled away from the prodding hands and hit something solid and warm before he could get far. His eyes snapped open and he got an eyeful of naked, tanned skin and the scent of wasted cheap perfume, the Impala’s leather interior and sweat stung his nose; it was about enough to make him choke on his own breath and feel a heat rise somewhere below the waistline.

 

Dean stretched his arms above his hand, apparently not put off by Sam being temporarily stuck to his body and breathed deeply through his nose. Sam watched Dean’s chest rise and fall dramatically and had to swallow the large lump forming in the back of his throat.

Dean smiled down at his brother, completely unaware of Sam’s inner torture, ruffling his hair. 

 

“Morning, Sammy,” Dean greeted in a sleepy voice.

 

Sam felt his boxers grow uncomfortably tighter in a way that he knew couldn’t be normal. His eyes closed tight and he tried not to cry out, hoping to God that Dean didn’t feel him getting hard against his leg. 

 

“Get moving boys!” John barked from behind Sam, making him jump from the tangle of sheets and trying desperately to cover his full hard on. His dad did _not_ need to see him like this. It was embarrassing and awkward and Sam really didn’t think he could explain at that moment why he had a sudden erection from waking up.

 

John looked at him oddly, an eyebrow arched for only a moment before shaking his head and ordering Dean to get out of bed. 

 

“I call the shower!” Dean called, stretching his legs out and cracking his neck. His muscles tightened as he flexed and Sam wasn’t sure why, but he couldn’t hold on much longer.

 

Sam dashed to the bathroom before Dean could rise from the bed and locked the door before his brother noticed it had been stolen. Letting out a deep sigh of relief, Sam tried to avoid looking down, hoping that maybe he imagined it all. He couldn’t have just got hard from realizing he was pushed up against Dean, could he? It was just because it was morning. Deep down, though, something inside him told him it was so much more. He had been close to Dean in the past, it never happened before. Why now?

 

There was a pounding at the door and Dean’s irritated cries from the other side. “Hey! What part of ‘I call the shower’ don’t you understand?”

 

It was wrong, so wrong for Sam to think this way. He ran a hand over his face; maybe if he woke up, took a piss, splashed cold water on his face... maybe it was just normal. He was going through puberty – maybe this happened to every guy. Maybe it was just the contact with skin. Maybe it happened to Dean.

 

“Sam! I called it first!”

 

Or maybe it didn’t. _Oh God, oh God. Please tell me that this isn’t happening._

 

“I’ll –” Sam breathed in deeply. “I’ll only be a minute.” He realized his hands were shaking; Sam grabbed hold of the sink and tried to steady himself. _This is wrong, this is wrong._ He wanted so desperately to convince himself he didn’t have to do this, that his head was just playing tricks on him, that his brother didn’t make him harder then all those forbidden centerfolds under his bed, but he couldn’t.

                        

“It’d better only be a minute,” Dean muttered through the door before retreating and Sam was left with silence. 

 

Sam turned the water-stained knob onto the hottest temperature possible. He heard John and Dean arguing outside and he shook his head, still gripping tightly onto the sink. It couldn’t be this way, it couldn’t be like this. Sam wanted so badly to ignore the pressing voice in the back of his head, the one telling him that he just didn’t need a blinding hot shower to make the heat go away, the sick, disgusting heat. The one that couldn’t be caused by his brother, but his body was telling him it was. 

 

“No, it’s not true,” Sam breathed out. Sweat poured down his body from the steam and heat of the water. He looked into the mirror, hoping that if he got a good look at himself it would explain everything. But all he saw was a fifteen-year-old boy with too much leg and a certain problem that he would surely never address again.

 

Sam steadily pulled his boxers off, the fabric rubbing painfully across sensitive skin and it made him sicker than he already was. He knew it was wrong and he only wanted it to be over; he knew if it was he could forget about it and convince himself it was all a mistake. Sam controlled his trembling fingers long enough to grab hold of himself, letting stinging tears mingle with the scalding water as he jerked off to the thought of his waking brother.

 

\- - - 

 

“Did you use all the hot water?”

 

Sam looked up from his feet, his fingers tightening on the towel wrapped around his hips. He had to avoid looking at Dean’s bare chest; Sam quietly cursed Dean under his breath as he shouldered past him.

 

“Uh, I -- no I don’t think so,” Sam mumbled from the bed, trying to dig around in his bag without having to let go of his towel. Droplets of water fell from Sam’s damp hair onto his heated back, leaving tracks of warming cool trailing down his skin.

 

“Better not have,” Dean snapped, slamming the door behind him.

 

Sam stared at the door for a moment before pulling out a wrinkled pair of jeans and a clean pair of boxers. Sam noticed John standing the corner with a cup of coffee in his hands – the steam rose up around his face, curling around thin lips and a hardening gaze. Embarrassed, Sam looked back to his bags, trying to figure out what to do with his hands before he did something drastic.

 

“Sam, Christ!” Sam jumped at the sound of Dean’s voice loud through the closed door. “Next time you jerk off in the shower clean up, will ya?”

 

Sam felt a hot blush work its way up his neck as John looked out the window, his tight lips pulling into a humorous grin and soft laughter escaped him. 

 

\- - - 

 

Sam was ready to tear the door off its hinges when he threw his duffel bag into the back. Dean opened the trunk; an ear-splitting screech filled the air as he placed five bags of gear into the back, carefully setting the bags around their small collection of guns, knives and other uncommon weapons.

 

A crisp breeze blew past the hotel, causing Sam to shudder involuntarily. Sam felt it tangle his still damp hair, brain freeze forming as he watched Dean move the bags around, momentarily hidden by the dull black lid of the trunk.

 

“Thanks for being subtle, dick face,” Sam bit out after slamming the door shut and leaning against the car.

 

Dean shot up, leaning sideways to look at Sam. “Hey! Don’t be calling me shit like that – I have authority over you.”

 

Sam let his eyes roll and folded his arms across his chest, hunching his shoulders to the wind.

 

“Look, we’re all guys here Sammy,” Dean began. Sam felt the burning embarrassment creep back onto his cheeks and he turned his face straight into the wind, hoping it would cool his red cheeks. “Not to mention family. I understand. Dad understands. You’re fifteen, it’s not totally unheard of.” Dean closed the trunk with a snap and stepped closer to Sam, letting his hand rest on Sam’s back. “It’s fine, Sammy, really.”

 

Sam jerked away from Dean’s hand, leaning against the hood. It wasn’t fine, it wasn’t. Sam looked Dean in the eyes, hoping Dean would see that it wasn’t fine that he came to his own brother’s face. Sam hoped Dean would see this horrible truth and at the same time hoped he would never find out. It was going to pass, it was just a stage. A completely weird and sinful beyond redemption stage – but Sam was positive he would get over it. He _had_ to get over it.

 

“Just next time, remember – alright?” 

 

Sam peered over his shoulder, watching Dean’s concerned face break into a patented Dean smile. 

 

“Yeah,” Sam muttered as John stepped out of the hotel room, closing the door behind him and there, it began; another hunt. Sam opened the back door, pushing Dean out of the way and sat down roughly in the back seat. “Let’s go!”

 

The glance John and Dean shared for that short moment left Sam with an uneasy feeling, but he pushed it to the back of his mind once the Impala roared to life and they were driving away from the motel – the rest of the town wasn’t even waking. 


	3. Chapter 3

**The Back Road Kings  
Summary:** The summer of 1998 will be a summer Sam will never forget – the summer his world changed, the summer he fought against the trails and errors of young romance, the summer he finally figured out Dean. The summer Sam knew nothing and everything, the summer that he found out that forever wasn’t too far away. It was Sam’s summer, one that he could keep nestled safely in his mind. The summer he and Dean were the Back Road Kings.  
 

**Fandom:** Supernatural

**Rating:** PG-16 ****

**Characters:** Sam, Dean, John, OCs ****

**Pairings:** Sam/Dean, Sam/OFC, Dean/OMC, implied Dean/OFC ****

**Word Count:** 4, 752

**Warnings:** Wincest, scenes of alcohol consumption (and the morning after), violence (nothing major), language and non-consensual sex and mention of BDSM. Not a happy story, let me tell you.  
**Author's Notes:** I've had this idea for a long time and I hope you can at least enjoy it. It is chaptered and it may not be updated regularly since it needs time to get beta'd and all that. Just bare with me here.  
  
[ ](http://mf-luder-xf.livejournal.com/profile)[**mf_luder_xf**](http://mf-luder-xf.livejournal.com/), you know how much you mean to me =3

****

Chapter 3/?

****

"Any guess as to what Dad’ll tell them?"

Sam didn’t move his head from the window as he shrugged; he knew Dean wouldn’t see from the front seat, but it wasn’t like he cared. He watched as John walked up the crumbling sidewalk towards the small hospital, a fake medical badge in hand. 

"Sam? You alive back there bud?" Dean called from the front seat, turning his head to the side slightly.

"Yeah," Sam muttered, watching his breath fog the window – he shuddered from the freezing AC blowing on his bare arms. "Just tired."

"You must be," Dean answered. Sam thought he saw a smirk on his brother’s face before he turned away. "You had an _eventful_ morning."

"Dean!" Sam shouted, sulking as he sat back in his seat.

Dean let out a roar of laughter as spun around in his seat. "Sorry man, I couldn’t resist."

"It’s not funny." Sam sunk back into his seat, folding his arms across his chest. A moment later, his knees were pulled close to his chest – just as a precaution. Sam found his body was very unpredictable at times.

"It’s _normal_ , stop acting like such a baby," Dean teased, poking Sam in the ribs.

"Cut it out, Dean!" Sam growled, leaning away from Dean’s prodding fingers. "I’m not in the mood!"

"What turns my little bro on, anyway?" Dean asked, still trying to find a place where he could jab his fingers into Sam’s bony body. He was leaning over the front seat, his knees barely keeping him balanced as his hands chased Sam around the backseat.

"That’s none of your business!" Sam shouted, a little louder than needed; he felt the blush working its way back out from under his skin, where it had been waiting to reappear after the morning’s events.He moved down the seat just as Dean’s hands clamped onto his lower legs. Sam pulled away from Dean’s grasp with difficulty. "Leave me alone!" Sam started kicking at Dean’s face and hands to ward him off.

"Not until you tell me why when we woke up this morning, you were harder than a tree." Dean laughed at his own wit, giving Sam time to duck under the seat and hide from Dean’s view.

"It’s nothing," Sam whispered, knowing Dean wouldn’t hear. _Too bad it happened after I woke up._

"Sammy, com’n! Tell me! I’m your older brother – I won’t laugh at you," Dean promised, his voice pitching in mock hurt.

"Yeah, but you’ll blackmail me," Sam pointed out. _You’d probably run screaming first._

"I could, but this time, I promise I won’t." Sam watched Dean’s feet appear in the front seat; he must’ve given up. Sam inched his way from under the seat as quietly as he could manage.

"Why do you care so much?" Sam asked as he pushed himself to a sitting position on the floor. Sam never realized how big the backseat was until he tried shoving himself under the front seat.

Sam saw Dean’s shoulders shrug. "I dunno. Some people have really weird things that turn them on – just want to know if my little brother’s normal."

__

Sorry, I’m not. Seems I get turned on by you, Dean. 

__

"It was nothing," Sam repeated as climbed back onto the seat. "Just a – just a girl."

This caused Dean to turn around, a wide grin plastered on his face. "A girl? Do I know her?" 

Sam froze; he needed to think of someone, anyone. His brain seemed to stop working as he tried to work out a name of a girl – any girl – in his class. "Jill," Sam spat out. Dean raised an eyebrow, asking for more information. "Jill Swan."

Dean’s grin fell. "Jill Swan? Does she have an older sister?"

Sam shrugged – he was sure he had just made that girl up. "I dunno, maybe."

"A sister Merissa?" Dean prompted, leaning back over the seat, closer to Sam.

"I don’t know! Does Merissa have a little sister named Jill?" Sam shot back, suddenly irritated. Sam had this problem with lying – he always let the truth out after awhile and this time was going to be no exception.

Dean was about to retort when John tapped on the window. Dean spun around, rolling down the window while Sam tried to get his heart back to a normal beat. Sam breathed in deeply.

"What?" Dean asked.

"I want you to take care of the car while I look through the files inside –" John leaned in the window, one arm resting on the ledge, and looked at Sam, "– and you can go get some coffee."

Sam nodded, not thinking much since it was just another order and suddenly the Impala was becoming too small and too hot to sit in any longer. He was halfway out the door, long legs unraveling from his body when Dean grabbed onto his shoulder and pulled him back. Sam tried not to squirm away from the touch; he was becoming paranoid as to what Dean’s touch could do to him.

"I’ll drive you downtown Sammy," Dean said, smiling at him.

"No," Sam said, shaking his head. He needed to get out of the car and away from Dean. He needed a long walk, fresh air and possibly a plane ticket to Hawaii. Or Thailand.Or a cup of strong, black coffee. He just needed out. "I’ll go myself."

"I’ll only be a few minutes Dean, better stay here," John ordered. 

Dean nodded, leaning back into his seat and letting go of Sam’s shoulder. Sam shot out of the car; Dean gave him an odd look but shrugged and looked back into his seat. Sam started walking away when he realized that he had no money. He stopped, rubbing dried flakes of sleep from his eyes, turned around and walked back to stand by John who gave him a weary grin. 

"Here," John said and handed Sam a few bills from his back pocket. "Strong and black, none of that fancy stuff," he added before walking back towards the hospital.

Sam took the money without looking at it – he was watching Dean flip through the cassettes on the floor, head bobbing to a silent song playing only in his head. A pile was forming by his legs – Sam had to swallow, _good God, his legs._ Dean took out an unmarked tape, nodded and shoved it into the player. A clash of drums and bass hit Sam’s ears and he cringed. 

"Black, cream, sugar – lot’s of it," Dean yelled over the song, picking strings at an imaginary guitar. "Get me a chocolate donut, too!"

"Right," Sam muttered, walking away as fast he could without looking too desperate to get away from there.

\- - -

"A little young to be up at this time in the morning," the young-looking cashier at the café commented.

Sam paused in handing his tattered money across the counter to look at the clock on the wall – it was barely seven. It was then that Sam noticed the café was completely empty. "I’m a morning person."

"With three coffees?" she teased, ringing up the coffees and donut.

"My family," Sam stammered, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb and when the cashier eyed him curiously and smiled almost sympathetically, Sam realized how much of an idiot he probably looked like. "They’re waiting in the car outside."

"Right," the girl giggled, taking Sam’s money. As Sam pocketed the change, she stacked the three cups in a cup holder, bagged the donut and handed them to Sam. "There you go." 

Sam nodded his thanks, grabbed the cup holder and left in a hurry, the cashier watching him closely with an amused smile.

When he stepped outside, Sam was hit with a blast of heat and he suddenly wished he would’ve worn shorts, but he wouldn’t be able to convince his dad to go back to the hotel now that they had already started. Groaning and feeling the heat of the coffees burn through the cups and his thin t-shirt, Sam made his long walk back to the Impala.

\- - - 

Sam could barely see the outline of the Impala in the distance and Dean was already yelling at him to hurry with his coffee. 

"Did you get anything, Dad?" Sam asked as he climbed into the backseat and the donut was grabbed from his fingers. In a quick save, he caught the coffees with his free hand and glared at Dean.

"No. Couldn’t find anything," John muttered, reaching for his coffee. "But one of the nurses’ said they had a girl come in not too long ago with a wound on her leg that they couldn’t heal. It rejected the stitches and anything else they tried."

Dean paused in taking a sip from his coffee. "She didn’t make it?"

John shook his head, taking a large drink. Sam choked on his own drink, his eyes growing wide. Dean gave Sam an exasperated look over his shoulder before shaking his own head and turning to face John.

"What are we going to do now?" Sam asked after he could move his tongue without it scratching uncomfortably along the smooth, wet skin of his cheek.

"Find what killed that girl," John replied, starting the engine. Sam felt the Impala shake as it roared to life and it was normal again; the death of a girl was all forgotten – and Sam found it harder to adjust to the fact that people died, while John and Dean shrugged it off because it was all part of the job – as John pulled out of the hospital parking lot and they were heading down the empty road to the outskirts of town.

\- - - 

It was late. Way too late.

Sam’s eyes itched as he rubbed them with his fist and he stretched out, lazy like a cat and hands batting in air. He let a large yawn escape him and for a moment he felt better. He stared around the empty field, taking in darkened scenery and stalks of wheat glowing under the moonlight. In the distance, he noticed a yellow dome of houselights and street lamps barricading it – they had to be a good twenty miles from town.

Dean and John were still sitting in the car, discussing tactics and plans and maneuvers. Sam didn’t care; he knew them all too well. He had gotten out of the backseat after John had ordered him to get the stuff they needed from the trunk, trying to wake himself up by wandering over to the lines of trees and rocks and never-ending fields, all the time aware that John’s eyes were watching him carefully.

 

Sam sorely wished he was back in the motel, the itchy wool blankets wrapped around him like a cocoon, watching a late night movie airing on cable TV with Dean who always had a quick, humorous remark to make about bad acting or a shaky plotline. But he was in Montana, some twenty good miles away from anything remotely comfortable and the incidents of that morning were still fresh in his mind. Sam revised his wish and put himself on a completely different bed. 

Somehow, that made his heart ache terribly.

The passenger door flew open and Dean stepped out, his body just the right size for him to get out of the Impala without looking like two pairs of legs escaping a tiny compartment. John followed and both doors slammed at the same time, causing Sam to nearly jump out of his skin.

"I thought I told you to get the guns out," John stated as he walked around to the trunk. 

"I, well, I didn’t know which ones to get," Sam mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets as Dean glided past him. Sam caught the same scent he’d noticed that morning; Dean, salt and everything that made his desire wrong. He groaned quietly so he wouldn’t be heard.

"Well, now you’re gonna learn."

Dean gave Sam an obvious _I know you really do know_ eyebrow raise before bending over the weapons in the trunk with John. Sam knew very well which weapons and guns they should’ve pulled out – he could probably list off every type of bullet, the length of knife and if they needed an exorcism or additional magical paraphernalia for any demon or spirit or ghost. He remembered things like that and it helped his dad and Dean out a lot when they were faced with something slightly familiar. They’d give him an approximate date, name of a town and state and synopsis of the hunted and Sam could list off what they used and what for.

Sam could’ve told them that the hunting knife Dean was eyeing rather hungrily wasn’t going to work in the least, unless Dean wanted to harvest the crop before them, but he didn’t. The sight of Dean’s fingers running over the edge of the blade, so close to breaking skin, was currently taking all of Sam’s attention.

It was late. Way too late for Sam to be outside watching his brother in something he conceived as strong sexual gesture. It was too late for Sam to be ever thinking that.

 

"Here," John said, tearing Sam’s eyes away from Dean’s hands. "Take this." 

 

Sam reached out for the shotgun before John dropped it without looking up to see if it was safe in his sons arm. The weapon was slick and cool metal, a promising and dangerous weight in Sam’s hands. He felt a thick lump form in the back of his throat – John had never granted him permission to use any of the shotguns before and Sam wasn’t sure if he could actually use it.

"Dad, I don’t know if I can use this," Sam told John in a shaky voice as the trunk lid slammed shut, piercing the night with a sharp snap. 

"‘Course you can. Sam." John shoved a pistol into his back pocket while eyeing the shotgun in his own hand. "Just aim and shoot."

"Yeah, but –" Sam began, but John raised his hand to silence him. Amazing things just a simple gesture can do, Sam realized as his mouth closed shut at the sight of John’s open palm. 

"Not now Sam, just get moving." John walked away, his back a broad wall that Sam suddenly wanted to curl up behind. Never had he been more afraid of what lay beyond those wide shoulders and bending heads of wheat blowing in the wind than at that moment, with the shotgun resting lamely in his hands. 

Dean brushed past him; he gave his brother a weary grin and a small shrug before following John into the impending dark. 

Sam rested the gun against his shoulder, yawned and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. It was way too late to be doing this.

\- - - 

Sam was covered head to toe in wheat beards and soft soil was packed deep into his shoes. He wiggled his toes, trying to get the dirt between his toes to rub off, but it only bothered him further. He swatted at a mosquito resting on his shoulder before sighing and leaning back on the rock.

Dean was picking at the ground, pulling pebbles and rocks from the depths of soil and grass; he made two separate piles which were going at a steady rate. Sam watched Dean deep in concentration, pushing away the dirt with his fingers and poking into the large hole that he had formed, looking for more stones to add to his piles. His gun lay beside him, glowing dully in the dark and Sam tried not to snort loudly at Dean’s other choice, which was tucked safely into his belt – he had brought along the hunting knife.

Sam looked off into the clump trees that John had disappeared into thirty minutes before. He had told Sam and Dean that he was going looking for the spirit, ghost, demon, crazed human being with a special talent that caused people to bleed to death and to go looking around the open field. They had, both running off in separate directions through the thick wheat and fifteen minutes later, they were stumbling out of the field sputtering and coughing from the mouthful of wheat heads they had consumed. Sam had tripped over his own feet on the way out and Dean helped him brush away most of the wet dirt and wheat without laughing too hard.

"Do you think we should go look for him?" Sam asked Dean, his eyes never leaving the dark green of leaves and even darker brown of bark. He was sure he saw a flash of red eyes rush through the leaves and for a moment, he stared wide-eyed and mouth gaping into the distance. 

"Dad says we’ve gotta stick together. Number one rule of hunting, Sammy – never go after something alone," Dean chided, adding a handful of pebbles to his pile. They hit the other pebbles, but immediately slide to the bottom and he had to push the pile into a make-shift mountain before the rest rolled away.

Sam sighed, shifting the weight of the gun from his right hand to his left. "That’s why he goes off alone," Sam muttered hotly under his breath.

"What’s that?" Dean asked, looking away from his glorious rocks for a moment.

Sam waved his hand in the dark. "It’s nothing. Never mind."

Dean watched Sam for a bit, narrowing his eyes at Sam who was carefully avoiding Dean’s gaze. "Whatever you say," he said shrugging. "Hey, you never did answer my question."

Sam felt something white-hot rise in his throat and he knew that his stomach had literally jumped into his throat and if he opened his mouth, he was going to hurl his burger and fries from lunch. "What question?" Sam asked as innocent and calmly as he could; he knew it had something to do with that morning and nothing good was ever going to come of that situation.

"What turns you on?" The way Dean said it made Sam choke out his next breath. Did brothers usually discuss this on a regular basis? Sam really wanted to know, because this was definitely awkward. 

"I answered it. It’s Jill," Sam shot back, glad that the dark hid the blush creeping warm up his neck. He knew that one of these days, his lies were going to catch up with him and it wasn’t going to be a pretty sight when all truths were revealed. Especially the one he couldn’t get out of his mind.

"Yeah, but what about her?" Dean was really pushing it; Sam had to think fast.

"What about her turns me on?" Sam asked, hoping it would give him more time to think of an answer. When Dean didn’t answer, Sam knew either way he was screwed. "Uh, I don’t know. Regular stuff."

"Like?" Dean prompted, still digging for his rocks. "Anything in particular?"

Sam made a face. "Please don’t tell me you’re going to use this as one of your sick and demented jerk-off fantasies."

Dean looked up, his teeth sparkling in the moonlight. "Fine, I won’t."

"Dean, gross!" Sam whispered, trying hard to keep himself from screaming.

"Don’t get your hormonal panties in a twist!" Dean huffed, but Sam could still see the look of smug satisfaction play across his brother’s face. "I never steal another guy’s fantasy."

"Dean!" Sam yelled, slamming his fist on the ground.

Dean held up his hands, just like in the car this morning and Sam knew instantly it was happening all over again. He was going to play it better this time though. This time, he wasn’t to get himself stuck in that corner he had become so acquainted with.

"Sorry!" Dean breathed between laughter. "And you just can’t say ‘regular stuff’. Every guy has his own little fetish or favorite part about a girl. What’s your’s with Jill?"

"Dude, you are really fucking sick," Sam muttered, picking at the hem of his tattered blue jeans. He was such a hypocrite and he hated himself for it. "Fine. She has a cute butt." Sam let that sink in for a moment and yeah – she did have a nice ass. Not that he stared at it constantly, but it was kind of hard to miss in P.E. when she bent down to pick up the ball and she was right there in front of Sam. Or she could be halfway across the gym, didn’t really matter. He couldn’t help but let his eyes wander.

Maybe he wasn’t as messed up as he thought – maybe it was the whole getting used to puberty thing where he could get hard from anything. It was just disturbing that that anything could possibly be his own brother. It left Sam to wonder if he could be something other than straight. Or normal even. Either way, it didn’t really give Sam great hopes for his future.

"Cute butt? Huh," Dean muttered, picking up his gun. "So, you wanna bang her or something?"

"Dean! I’ve barely talked to her!" Sam cried indignantly. 

"So what? You’re just being creepy and staring at her?" Dean inquired, his eyes growing dark and curious.

"No! God, Dean." Sam shifted his position and turned his back on Dean. Conversations like these never worked to his advantage and it made him extremely pissed off; he was the kind of person who wanted things to always go their way or close to it.

"Well, that’s what you come off as," Dean pointed out matter-of-factly. "Maybe you should go talk to her."

"I’m not even going to listen to your advice on girls ‘cause I really don’t see hoards of girls hanging off of you," Sam bit out, his back still turned on Dean. He shifted the gun in his hands again, which were numb and thick from the cold. 

Sam heard Dean laugh softly and he rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, that’s true Sam," Dean admitted sarcastically. "Maybe that’s because you never get out of your damn room or take your nose out of a book for more then three seconds."

 

There was a rustle in the bushes; Sam fumbled with the gun and kneeled in a position where he had a fairly decent aim at anything. Dean slowly rose to his feet, cocking the gun and resting it against his shoulder. Sam allowed himself one look at Dean before shaking out his arms and tried to ignore the fact that his legs were gradually falling asleep in the most painful way possible.

Branches snapped under quick pressure and Dean took a step forward, gun aimed directly at the opening to the woods. Sam could’ve told him the sound was coming a few feet from his left, but his mouth was cotton thick and dry and his tongue felt like it was slowly choking him.

"Boys?" came a low growl from the darkness of fluttering leaves and Dean sighed in relief, lowering his gun. 

"Find anything Dad?" Dean asked conversationally, motioning for Sam to lower his gun. 

John appeared through a thicket of tangled leaves, brushing cobwebs from his hair, a few feet from the clearing that Dean had been aiming at. Sam felt a small sense of pride rush through him, knowing he was right.

"Nothing. You?" John asks, picking tiny branches from his hair and jacket. Dean shook his head as he set his gun to the ground and brushed the dirt off his hands. John sat down on the rock near Dean and they instantly immersed into a quiet, fevered conversation.

Sam watched them talk; John, Dean and the scenery beyond the two swam in and out of focus as Sam’s tired eyes dilated and he blinked rapidly to let them water. The wind was dry and warm, making it comfortable for Sam to sprawl out on the ground and stretch his arms lazily over his head. There was a quiet rustle from the trees and Sam bolted up, hands reaching out half-blindly for his gun. A twig snapped, echoing across the field and Dean and John looked up, faces blank.

Sam was kneeling again in an instant, positioning his gun against his shoulder and resting his elbow on his knee. He shook all over; his aim never stayed in one spot for more then a second.

"Sammy," John warned, appearing in Sam’s line of vision. 

Dean had crawled beside Sam; his heat was comforting and Sam felt his heart in his throat and he didn’t know if it was from nerves or from Dean’s closeness, but he didn’t have time to debate over the two as a shadowed creature burst from the clearing, charging at John.

"DAD!" Dean screamed, his voice rough and broken. He jumped to his feet, falling forward and over his feet, as he fired off rounds at the demon.

Sam sat shocked and shaking, his finger clamped tight and sweaty around the gun. His finger rested lightly on the trigger, ready to shoot if needed. He watched with tired and flickering eyes as the demon disappeared and reappeared, Dean and John yelling to each other and shooting at the demon, trying to get it before it teleported again and Sam had never felt so helpless in his life. 

John lunged after the demon, and it disappeared in a quiver of smoke just as John’s arms were wrapping around its body. John fell forward, barely catching himself as the demon appeared behind him and Dean; it pushed Dean out of the way, throwing him to the ground with a brutal force and Sam couldn’t stop himself from screaming. The demon vanished and reappeared behind John, leaning over him menacingly and before Sam could think rationally, he pulled the trigger and lead was piercing the dense night, speeding towards the demon.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Sam dropped the gun, an agonized scream ripping through the air and Sam somehow knew that the demon shouldn’t make that noise. 

"SAM!" Dean yelled, his voice hoarse and jagged. "Sam, what the hell did you –"

Sam’s eyes flew open and he gasped. John was kneeling on the ground, his hand clenched onto his right shoulder and he hissed noisily through his teeth. Dean fell down beside him, eyes wide and lips moving at a lightening fast speed that Sam knew only as Latin, and it was probably a long string of curses.

"It only grazed –" John whispered, his voice floating towards Sam across the meadow.

"Let me see it –" Dean was pulling away John’s hand, his other hand flying to his jeans to pull out his pocket knife.

"Take him back to the hotel –"

Sam felt the word _him_ sting maybe a little too hard.

Dean looked at Sam with dark, narrowed eyes. Sam tried to look away, unable to bear the scrutinizing weight of Dean’s gaze, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away. "Yes, sir." 

John tore off a long strip from his shirt sleeve, handing the fabric to Dean. "Wrap it tight. I’m going after it."

Dean obeyed, tying the strip tight around the wound when John pulled his hand away. He pulled John to his feet and they stood facing each other, obviously avoiding Sam. John dared a glance in Sam’s direction – he shook his head and whispered something to Dean before squeezing his son’s shoulder and brushing past Sam without so much as an acknowledgment that Sam was there. Dean slowly turned to face Sam, his face an unreadable set of stone and Sam felt burning vomit jump into his throat.

"Oh God," Sam mumbled to himself, looking to the gun at his feet. It lay in a swirl of grass and dirt, unaware of what it had just done. No, what _Sam_ had just done.

Dean was in front of Sam, breath steady and even and Sam knew he was pissed off; really, really pissed off and Sam didn’t have to try to read those dark, icy eyes to know that he wasn’t going to be let off easy. He had messed up and he had messed up big time.

Sam heard the Impala engine idle and then roar to life, the screech of tires against the earth and the gears shift as John tore out of the meadow and onto the highway.

"Move," Dean ordered, his voice all venom and anger. "It’s a long walk back and I have lots to say."

\- - -   
  
Feedback is once again appreciated!  
 


	4. Chapter 4

**The Back Road Kings  
Excerpt:** _Sam’s stomach knotted up tightly, twisting and coiling, at the anticipation his body pumped through his veins. He had no idea what his punishment would be. Maybe the silence was his punishment – he couldn’t bear the quiet in the car and the tension that separated the front and back. Sam knew he would take any other punishment if it meant that Dean would look at him again without bitter regret._  
**Rating:** R  
**Characters:** Sam, Dean, John, OCs  
**Pairings:** Sam/Dean, Sam/OFC, Dean/OMC, implied Dean/OFC  
**Warnings:** Wincest, male/male slash, sexual references  
**Author's Notes:** I've had this idea for a long time and I hope you can at least enjoy it. It is chaptered and it may not be updated regularly since it needs time to get beta'd and all that. Just bare with me here.  
  
You all know who I love:  

[ ](http://mf-luder-xf.livejournal.com/profile) [](http://mf-luder-xf.livejournal.com/) **mf_luder_xf**

  
 

**Chapter 4/?**

Sam hadn’t expected Dean to have a lot to say, but clearly he did, because as Dean threw open the door to the motel room he was still yelling at Sam at a level normally reserved for sports announcers. Sam didn’t try to tell Dean to keep it down because it would only make him get louder; he closed the door quietly behind him as someone a few doors down stepped out from their room, trying to find the source of all the noise.

"– and to think Dad was going to let us go out on a hunt of our own," Dean snapped, throwing off his shoes and tearing off his jacket with such ferocity Sam was afraid he would rip it in half.

"I’m sorry," Sam mumbled, hoping Dean didn’t catch the sarcasm that just barely graced the edges of his voice.

"Sit down," Dean ordered, pointing to the chair near the window and Sam immediately took it. "You’re lucky it’s just me who has to talk to you – who knows what Dad would’ve said."

"I didn’t mean to shoot him," Sam admitted earnestly, wringing his hands together and leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees.

"Yeah, I know Sammy –" For a moment, Dean’s voice was sympathetic and the voice Sam was used to, but it quickly went back to its harsh tone and Sam remembered that he did something very wrong, "– but the demon got away because of that."

"Dad blames me, right?" Sam asked in a quiet voice, not wanting to look at Dean yet, afraid of what he might see on his brother’s face.

Dean sighed. "He didn’t say anything like that."

Even when Dean was infuriated, Sam could still tell when he was lying and trying to protect him from the truth. Sam had seen it enough times in the past to understand just from the way Dean’s voice wavered in the middle, how he looked past Sam’s head. But Sam decided to play along, let the worst wash over him and deal with what ever punishment that lay before him without digging the hole deeper.

"Okay, good." Sam brushed his hands on his pants.

"No, _not_ good. You fucked up, Sam. Badly. Dad’s not one to forgive and forget, you know that, so don’t go thinking I’ll let you off easy this time. You could’ve killed Dad – you’ve gotta _think_ before you shoot," Dean ordered, tapping his temple with his index finger. "Especially with other people around."

"I was scared! I thought it was going to get Dad!" Sam protested, raising his head to look at Dean with wide eyes. "I was scared!"

"I know you were, Sam!"

"And what, that’s not enough?" Sam demanded, curling his hand into a fist in his lap.

Dean closed the gap between the door and the chair, towering high above Sam. "Not enough to make up for the fact that you could’ve embedded a lead bullet into Dad’s heart if he hadn’t moved out of the way! Jesus Christ, Sam…" Dean was breathing heavily – the exact way he did when he got anxious or nervous or angry – and he ran his hand through his hair, his other hand on his hip. " _Think_! You’re supposed to be the smart one!"

Sam jumped from his chair, stepping into Dean’s space – it was awkward since he was a few inches taller than Dean already but it gave him a slight boost of superiority and confidence. "I didn’t mean to hurt him, Dean, I just wanted to help!"

Dean stared up at Sam for a moment before shaking his head and gently pushing Sam away. "Okay, fine. Whatever – but you’re still taking shooting lessons with me when we get back."

"What?" Sam’s clenched fists fell limp and his body sagged in defeat – he knew it wouldn’t do him any good to fight or protest against the lessons he knew were inevitable, since John’s word was law no matter where they went or what they were doing. 

Dean was unbuckling his belt, his back facing Sam and he looked over his shoulder to answer. "Dad said I’d be giving you shooting lessons when we get back – he thought you’d caught on quicker than that."

"I have a good aim!" Sam protested, moving to take off his own jacket slowly.

Dean grinned darkly. "Yeah and that’s why you almost blew off Dad’s arm."

Sam didn’t find it at all funny and turned away, facing the chair and began undressing hurriedly. He and Dean didn’t talk as they got ready for bed, both exhausted from the long walk back and Sam was sure Dean had felt he had said enough already. Once he was halfway undressed he turned around to see Dean climbing into the double bed, his back facing Sam – for a moment Sam made to move for the bed and then thought better of it, the events of the morning seeming ages behind him but still all too recent to forget. 

"Night Sammy," Dean mumbled from the bed, his arm flung out across his head.

"Yeah," Sam whispered as he dragged the other chair from the table to face the one he had sat in. He walked over to the dresser, pulled open all the drawers until he found the spare blanket and pillow. "Good night," he added in a somber voice as he settled down as comfortably as he could in the chairs, the blanket offering little shelter from the blasting air conditioning – he was positive his toes were going to fall off during the night. He watched Dean’s back until he drifted off to sleep, hoping Dean would get agitated and ask Sam to climb into bed with him, but he never did. Sam knew that later on he wouldn’t mind that Dean hadn’t asked Sam to crawl into bed with him. And even if he did, Sam knew that Dean was still mad at him no matter what he did.

\- - -

When Sam woke, he expected it to be morning and was mildly shocked to see the room still shrouded in darkness. The door snapped shut behind him and his head swiveled around, peeking over the edge of the chair – John stood near the door, shrugging his jacket off and Sam heard him hiss as the jacket slid over his hurt arm. 

Sam laid back down as John kicked off his shoes in a not-so-silent fashion and stumbled over to Dean’s bed – Sam hadn’t noticed that even when Dean got the bed to himself, he tended to keep his body tucked close together; a safe and defensive position, as though, even when he is sleeping, he was still aware of the danger in the dark.

John kneeled near the bed and stayed there for a moment before reaching his hand up, and in the moonlight that sneaked in through the closed curtains, Sam could see his father’s hand brush along Dean’s forehead and Dean fidgeted away, the corner of his mouth twitching. John grinned toothlessly in the dark and pushed himself to a standing position. Sam instantly positioned himself into what seemed a normal sleeping position as John walked over to his pathetic excuse for a bed and pulled the blanket from around his waist and up to his shoulders. 

"I’m not mad," John whispered near Sam’s ear and he used all his will power not to open his eyes or move away as John remained near him for the next few minutes – it seemed to go on forever. "Just disappointed."

That was the worst, he always seemed – _disappointed_. Sam would rather had John yell at him for hours and hours, throwing things and breaking bottles against walls then have to see all his emotion and disappointment buried in his tired eyes for the next few days.

John finally stood up, groaning at probably sore knees and a bruised back, and walked over to his own bed, falling down with a muffled thud and a relieved moan. 

Sam’s eyes flew open before he was even sure John was fully asleep and turned on his side, curling up into a tight ball in the corner of the chair. Even though he was incredibly tired, Sam didn’t sleep the entire rest of the night but let his dad’s words repeat in his head over and over until they were stuck in his long-term memory forever.

\- - -

There was indistinct chatter that rustled Sam awake in moments. He squeezed his eyes shut against the bright red flash that spread across his eyelids and groaned when something clattered to the floor. Pushing himself into a sitting position, he blinked a few times before the room came into focus and he spotted Dean kneeling on John’s bed, redressing his bullet wound, and a bottle of peroxide on the floor beside the bed. Sam tore his eyes away when he caught sight of the torn skin that he knew that he had caused and slowly worked the kinks out of his back.

"Start packing up your stuff, Sam," John ordered. "We’re heading out as soon as possible."

Sam nodded but didn’t move from his make-shift bed. He watched as John gave quiet suggestions to Dean who carefully wrapped the medical gauze around his arm and wondered how many times John talked to them while they slept. He wondered if John brushed away the dirt from Dean’s forehead most nights or if John wrapped Sam up tightly in his blankets, like he needed extra protection and only John could give it.

"Are you gonna move or will I have to drag your ass everywhere today?" Dean snapped as he taped the end of the gauze and crawled off the bed. 

"Dean," John said sharply. He started pulling on his shirt, moving carefully over the gauze and looked at Sam. "I want you packed and ready in five minutes."

"Yes, sir," Sam mumbled the automatic reply and pushed himself from the messy tangle that he had managed to make of his one blanket as the door slammed shut behind John. He landed awkwardly on his leg which had been laying at an odd angle for most of the night and tried not to show his discomfort as he folded the blanket and limped over to the dresser. 

Dean already had his bags packed, thrown onto his bed in the jumble of sheets and pillows and blankets, and was settled contentedly on the bed, flicking through the channels on the TV. He glanced over every once and a while at Sam while he pulled on his shirt or shoved his hoodie into his duffel bag and it sent shivers down Sam’s spine when he felt his brother’s eyes following his back.

Sam was just finishing shoving the last of his things into his duffel bag when John came back, leaning in the door for only a moment to wave his two sons out before disappearing again. Dean leaped off the bed, grabbing his duffel bags, slinging them over his shoulder and was out the door. Sighing, Sam shut off the TV and grabbed his own bag, before clicking off the light and shutting the door with a slam.

"Hurry up, Sam," John called from the driver’s side of the Impala as Sam rushed around to the trunk, throwing his bag in and closing the lid with a snap. He crawled into the back seat, suddenly out of breath and John was tearing out of the motel parking lot before Sam could sit back in his seat. 

"So, you didn’t tell me how far the thing had gone before you caught up to it," Dean said a few miles out of town, already fiddling with the radio and thumbing through his small tape collection.

"Only a few miles down the road," John answered. "It seems to hide in the woods, but it came out to play for a bit."

Sam saw the satisfied smirks his brother and dad shared with each other in the front seat. Everything always happened in the front seat, while he sat in the back seat, tapping his fingers on his knees and counting the highway signs they passed with mock interest.

John and Dean talked about the demon – well, more John told the story, in detail, of how he brought the son-of-a-bitch down and Dean asked small questions every once in awhile, but nodded mostly. Sam could hear the awe in his voice and see the worship in his eyes. He could feel the admiration seeping in and out the windows – it was almost sickening. 

Sam didn’t say anything because no one asked him to speak; he remained quiet and motionless – save his drumming fingers on his knee – in the far corner near the passenger side, watching the world pass him by faster than he wanted. He saw more than felt the car speed up. Soon the roadside was one large blur of green and brown in his eyes, the Impala rolling down the highway in one smooth, sleek black line. 

Sam waited for Dean to pick up a game of Twenty Questions or License Plates, but not once did Dean bother to turn his head and look at Sam, share a cocky grin and a smack on the head for just the hell of it. 

Sam’s stomach knotted up tightly, twisting and coiling, at the anticipation his body pumped through his veins. He had no idea what his punishment would be. Maybe the silence was his punishment – he couldn’t bear the quiet in the car and the tension that separated the front and back. Sam knew he would take any other punishment if it meant that Dean would look at him again without bitter regret.

They pulled into a gas station just as Sam was drifting off to sleep, tiredness catching up with him. The cars doors slammed, jostling Sam awake and he rubbed his eyes, stretching and yawning. He blinked into the blinding sun, covering his eyes as he stepped outside the car, his legs relaxing at the sudden amount of room. He followed John and Dean inside, tumbling awkwardly over his feet.

Sam wandered around the store, up and down the aisles, barely taking in what was on the shelves, feet shuffling across the scuffed floor. He heard Dean muttering an aisle over and could see John standing at the door, still keeping an ever vigilant eye on his boys. Sam wondered if he would be able to get away from that demanding stare and the insistence of perfection that hung like a thunderstorm over his head just waiting to drown him if he didn’t reach it. 

"Want anything?" Dean asked as he brushed past Sam, arms full, but he was gone before Sam could even consider an answer.

Sam watched Dean make his way to the counter, shoulders and arms moving to keep all his bags in his grasp; Sam waited for Dean to turn around, smirk and punch him across the shoulder. Make a joke, make Sam laugh. It was all Sam wanted. It was too awkward, too unbearable, too lonely to be with Dean but without the easy amity they usually had.

When they got back to the car, Sam was crawling into the back seat preparing himself for the last stretch of highway before home and Dean was throwing his things into the passenger side. John came up behind Dean, laid a hand on his shoulder and Dean turned his head to the side, his eyebrows raised.

"Sir?" Dean mumbled. 

John sighed, letting a small smile spread on his lips, and put something into Dean’s hand that Sam couldn’t see. Dean looked down at his hand, eyes wide and mouth hanging open slightly. 

"You need some practice with the shifting," John muttered.

Sam leaned over in the seat, trying to see what was causing Dean to turn into a fish and put John into an uncomfortable spot. 

"Dad," Dean whispered, looking back at John.

"Consider it a graduation present," John said quickly, clapping Dean on the back. "Get going – we have a ways to go."

For a moment, Sam was confused at the transaction John and Dean made – Dean walked around the front of the Impala, his fingers brushing the hood and John climbed into the passenger seat, shaking the car when he slammed the door shut. Sam felt dawning realization when Dean slowly opened the driver’s door and got in, key glimmering in a ray of light before it disappeared into the ignition. 

\- - - 


End file.
